A Touch Of Worm In The Blood
by lilmissy97
Summary: Post Inheritance. Eragon contemplates if there is something in his blood that made him destined for greatness, blood that he passed onto his seven sons. Rated T for mild mentions of adult themes. Bad summary I know.
1. Of sweet wine

Hi everyone, this is just a story looking at Eragon's life many years after the war.

The title of this story came from the book "Worm In The Blood" by Thomas Bloor. It's basically about how a family have been carrying a curse for generations that causes certain members of the family to turn into dragons. Although it's not a typical fantasy novel I would definitely recommend it to anyone looking for a fantasy book with a modern twist, although parts of it are quite dark and disturbing so don't read it if you are one of those people who can't deal with that stuff.

I know you are probably expecting Arya to be a part of this but it seemed like, to me anyway, Paolini was drawing a line under their relationship at the end of Inheritance, don't get me wrong I loved their relationship but Eragon had changed so much over the course of the final book that I realised he wasn't the boy who fell in love with Arya anymore.

Disclaimer- I don't own Inheritance. If I did it would have an awesome musical number in it, perhaps Eragon and Saphira singing "We Go Together" from Grease?

...

His first son was born in the depths of winter. His mother had passed into the void hours before he had arrived back from the fragile peace talks with the Urgal tribes of the far north. He was greeted at the door by her parents who were regarded him with eyes as cold as the snow outside, inside her body lay still in her coffin.

He reached out her, needing to know it was true, touching her cold cheek with his fingertips. Gone was the warmth he had become so accustomed to. The eyes that had always looked so softly at him would never open again. The memories of her flashed through his brain.

Her standing in the doorway of a cottage smiling as he walked closer. Kissing in the barn, while he really should have been working. Staring at her across the crowded village green, while dancers spun in front of him. Her laughing eyes as he stumbled towards her after having a dozen too many drinks at the local tavern. Her soft body moulding into his as they lay by the fire, reassuring him softly, yes she wanted this as much as he did. The smell of the freshly bloomed flowers that always seemed to cling to her skin. Her warm fingertips warming his very soul as she touched him. Drinking wine in the meadow, talking of everything and nothing. Her hand gripping his tightly as she told him what he had already begun to suspect, she was with child. Her pale face as she told her parents the news. The way her eyes would light up when he talked of the future that they would spend together and the child they would soon have. She never talked of the bad things of course, her father refusing to speak to her and the village girls who would never dare say anything in front of him but who's snide whispers followed her when unaccompanied.

He kissed her one last time before whispering into her cheek "Stydja unin mor'ranr", rest in peace.

He turned towards her mother who was sat by the fire cradling a small bundle in her arms. She looked up sensing his gaze.

"Is there.." her voice cracked at the end.

"If there was anything I could do you know that I would" he replied hoarsely.

She nodded before standing up. She took a few steps towards him before hesitating. He closed the distance and held out his arms, the child was so small and fragile. He felt that if he were to hold it any tighter it would break into tiny pieces before his very eyes.

"A boy" said the woman.

"A name?"

She shook her head, "I thought perhaps you would want to name.."

"Merda" the old man said sharply, speaking up for the first time, "stop this now."

Eragon looked at the child, his son, before gently brushing his mind. "He is weak."

The old woman sighed "Aye, though it is not surprising, he was born early probably because of the fall she took earlier in the day. I would not have expected him to survive this long but..." she looked at Eragon "he is a fighter just like his father."

"You know?"

"Of course, she told me at the very beginning. I had no objections, she deserved the best."

Eragon was shocked; he had always taken measures to conceal his identity from those around her, as it is what she asked him to do.

Eragon knew his son would need all the help he could get to survive the coming days and months, he knew early born children often didn't survive, succumbing to internal failure or sickness more than healthy infants. Under his breath he started to place wards around the boy, wards that would protect him from illness, accidents and anything else that could harm this tiny thing that lay so peacefully in is arms.

"Leave" the old man's voice was low and dangerous, "this was your doing, she would still be alive if it were not for you."

The words were spoken out of grief and anger but Eragon knew there was some truth in them. If it were not for him...

"Did you not hear me, leave now and never come back." his voice was rising with each word.

"He is my son," Eragon protested, "you cannot..."

"She was my daughter!" he was yelling by now "And you, you took her away from me! Leave! Go back to whatever godforsaken place you came from, I don't care, just leave!"

Eragon knew he should have argued, should have fought for his son but he felt drained as if all the energy he had had been sucked out of him.

Numbly he placed the child into his grandmother's arms before turning to look at the girl whom he had loved. He closed his eyes as the weight of his sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. Drawing a shaky breath he drew out a pouch of coins from his pocket and placed them on the table.

"We don't want your money"

Eragon didn't reply, sometimes in life you don't always get what you want but you just have to deal with it.

Then he turned towards the door and left. The wind outside bit into him as he walked away from the small cottage. Behind him he heard the door slam.

"Wait," it was Merda, "you haven't named him."

Eragon took a second to think. "Alagos"

"What does it mean?"

"Great storm."

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile as she looked up at the clouds, which were unleashing huge amounts of snow from within their depths. "A great storm indeed."

"Will you write to me? I cannot lose her and my son, please?"

The old woman nodded.

"I will send money and..." Eragon paused, _Ithreal?_

_Yes Eragon?_

_Would you...?_

_It would be a great honour to protect your hatchling, Eragon._

Eragon drew the canvas bag from his pack and gave it to the woman. She looked at him with confusion in her eyes. "What is this?"

"Place it under the floorboards in his room, it will protect him but you must tell no-one, not even your husband."

"As you wish, My Lord."

Then he turned on his heels and left.

...

Leitha poured another glass to the brim with a honey coloured liquid that burned his throat.

"Grief can make us irrational sometimes Eragon, do not judge him too harshly."

It was times like these that Eragon felt as if he were the student and she was the master.

"When did you become so wise?"

"When I started listening to you," she said smiling "and personal experience." The smile wavered.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until the sun sat low in the sky.

"Alright, I must ask, why is your hair white? I was not gone for that long I believe."

She looked slightly flustered. "Murtagh."

"What, he did this to you?" Eragon was confused.

"Of course not. He refused to teach me some words in the ancient language so I decided I would try to get him drunk..."

Eragon sighed, it was true at times she showed wisdom but soon enough she would revert back to the seventeen year old girl she was.

"...and once I had put out the fire on the curtains he started singing again. Well..."

The story was getting odder by the second, if it were not for the fact she was talking in the ancient language he would have accused of downright making this up.

"...enough was enough, I poured the poison into his drink and..."

Eragon looked down at his own drink, surely she had thrown away the bottle she had poisoned? It was true she was scatterbrained at times but he didn't think she could forget to do something that important, could she?

"...he started running in front of the targets and I didn't want to stop shooting so..."

This tale was turning into quite the epic ode, Eragon wondered if Murtagh remembered any of it but he didn't think so because Leitha was still alive.

"...if that were true, I told him I would swim up the waterfall, unfortunately for me..."

Saphira interrupted his thoughts, _Swim up a waterfall, is that even possible?_

_If anyone can do it Leitha can._

"...once I got him away from the donkey he started calling me a..."

_Do you believe this little one?_

_If I know her at all, then yes._

"...halfway home I gave up and left him there."

_An interesting story._

"I intend on turning it into an epic poem and reciting it at the next blood oath festival in front of a crowd of Elves"

...

**My Lord Eragon,**

** My husband died not long after I wrote my last letter to you. The farm has been sold and an old friend of mine, Helda, has offered me a place to stay. I do not think I can continue to support and care for Alagos without my husband. I have not been in the best of health now for many years and believe that I will soon follow him into the void. I do not wish for Alagos to see me wither away before his eyes like his grandfather as it caused him a great deal of sadness. I wish for you to take your son from me and care for him, he needs his father now more than ever. Come as quickly as possible, I fear my time grows short.**

** Merda**

...

"Who are you?" asked the solemn eyed child in front of him.

"Your father." How long had he ached to say those words? To hold his own child and tell him what he had just said.

The hazel eyes opposite his own filled with tears before the boy leapt out of the chair and wrapped his small arms around Eragon, who wrapped his arms around his son.

The words came spilling out them, "I love you, I'm sorry, so so sorry."

Alagos didn't respond, he just held his father tighter and buried his head into his neck.

...

Merda passed on barely a moons cycle after Eragon had taken Alagos.

They attended the funeral together. Many of the villagers noticed the fine clothes they wore and told others at the local tavern what they had expected all along, Alagos' father was a noble or at least a fine merchant. After all, remarked one local farmer, even when the harvest had failed they had never had to ask for the state's support, the father must have helped them.

Eragon returned home with Alagos, who turned slightly green when he told him how high he usually flew, however once up in the air Alagos decided that yes, he rather liked flying.

Leitha and Murtagh were waiting for them on the shore. At first Alagos was wary of them having grown up in a small village where everyone knew everyone else but he was soon the best of friends with Leitha when she offered to give him a piggyback. Murtagh of course had a different theory as to why they got on so well, they were of a similar mental maturity, this opinion earned a smack on the head and food that always seemed burnt for the next three weeks.

Other than growing up on an Island with only dragons and their riders, learning several languages early in life, being adored by elves- for some reason, Eragon noticed, they had a weakness for small children-, being spoiled by the dwarf king regularly, learning how to wield a sword and shoot an arrow from one of the greatest warriors of all time and being taught magic, his upbringing was rather ordinary.

At the age of nine one of Saphira's eggs hatched for him. He named the sapphire coloured dragon Adlanna.

He advanced quickly through the now growing number of students, partially due to his unorthodox upbringing and partly because of his thirst for knowledge. He had always been more mature than many his own age, Eragon always thought this was because Alagos had grown up around those much older than him, this was only highlighted when, at the age of just fourteen, he finished his studies and was declared a fully fledged rider.

Eragon was reluctant to let him start carrying out duties that were usually done by much older riders and Alagos was impatient. They agreed that when he turned sixteen he would start his official duties but until then he would tutor other students.

On the day of Alagos sixteenth birthday Eragon was filled with much trepidation. When he told Leitha this she called him a hypocrite because at the age of sixteen he himself was fighting in some of the bloodiest battles in the history of Alagaësia.

"Have you got your map?" asked Eragon.

"Yes"

"Have you..."

"Father, I will be fine, I think I have proven myself more than capable."

Eragon sighed, to him Alagos would always be the fragile child he was a birth instead of the strong young man stood before him.

As his son turned and left Eragon looked at the clouds which looked heavy with snow.

"I didn't do a bad job, did I?" he asked and in response the first flakes of snow landed on his upturned face.

...

Thanks for reading. If you liked this chapter please review and if you didn't please also review because I appreciate structured criticism!


	2. Of Fleeting Flings

Hello! You're back!

Hopefully you have continued reading after reading the slightly depressing last chapter.

Disclaimer- I don't own The Inheritance Cycle, if I did Murtagh would be the lead singer of a world famous rock band.

...

It wasn't often that Eragon spent time at the royal court, he found it too constraining, the nobles were always flinging their daughters at him and the ever changing ridiculous fashions only annoyed him. He was told last month it was yellow tunics and short velvet leggings. For once Eragon was glad that many people at court idolised him, dark pants and plain shirts were much easier to stomach early of a morning than yellow tunics.

It was during the feast thrown for his arrival that he had first seen her. Unlike many of the women he came into contact with she did not almost immediately announce that she was on the hunt for a husband (as she was already married Eragon would later discover), start running her fingers through her hair or giggle an obscene amount of times even when he being serious.

Perhaps it was the long years that he had spent without the company of a woman, but Eragon could not help but imagine something between them. He really should have known better.

For three months they enjoyed each other's _intimate_ company. Then it was time for him to move on, Dragon Riders were becoming known for their restless feet, and he had tarried at court for far too long. He would remark in months to come that it was not as hard to leave her as he thought it would be and Eragon did not expect her to pine for him; it was simply her nature to be whimsical and changeable.

He thought nothing of his fleeting fling.

...

"You needn't be so hard on them."

Leitha's lips twitched into a small smile, "Did your enemies ever go easy on you?"

"Of course not but this situation is a little different, after all they are only learning."

"Sometimes a little motivation is required."

A voice spoke from behind Eragon, Murtagh was leant against an archway that lead to the council room, "A broken arm is not motivation."

Leitha turned towards Murtagh and Eragon could not help but catch the wicked glint in her eye. "My Lord, I cannot help but remember a time in my own youth when you regarded..."

_Not again, _Saphira's voice was a accompanied by a mental sigh.

_Peace Saphira, _Eragon replied, _there is no malice within their arguing, it is just their way._

_It does not make their verbal sparring any easier to live with, _came her sharp response.

"Enough", it was true what Saphira had said, their constant disagreements did tend to wear away at his nerves, "you must apologise to the young rider."

"But Eragon..." protested Leitha

Eragon cut her off, "Leitha, I am not asking, this is a command."

She lifted her chin up haughtily and for once she was silent.

"Now both of you leave me in peace, I have matters of state to attend to and your bickering will certainly not help me deal with how the merchants are supposedly not giving a fair price for wool."

"Who said the life of a dragon rider was..." Murtagh grew silent when Eragon glared at him, "Very well Eragon I will go." With that statement he spun on his heels and quickly departed.

_At least he had the sense to leave quickly, _remarked Saphira

Eragon had reached the doors of his study and they opened silently. He quickly walked to his desk across the cavernous room, Saphira curled up on the soft bedding that had recently had to be replaced after she had drank too much mead and nearly burnt the entire room. He glanced up and saw Leitha stood at the door, she met his eyes and made a move almost as if to leave, but then she squared her shoulders and entered further into the room.

Eragon was about to tell her that he was in no mood to sit and talk all night over capricious amounts of wine as they so often did, but she interrupted him.

"I know what you are going to say so please do not waste your breath," he was going to interrupt but she continued "I have something you must see, I should have told you earlier however the fates conspired against me." Leitha pulled a parchment from a concealed pocket in her roles and placed it on the desk before him.

He studied the envelope and the broken seal upon it.

"Derga? The second son of the Lord of Dauth? What could I possibly need to hear from that great flowered dandy?" distaste laced Eragon's words, he did not hold the young buck of Surda's court in high esteem.

_He is much too silly and flippant_, _whatever is in that letter I hold a great deal of doubt that one word is relevant to us or in fact the truth. _

_Aye, _Eragon replied, _but if Leitha thinks it holds something of importance then it must be considered._

He opened the letter and surveyed the contents. Most of the letter made not a blind bit of sense to him.

_I must have Leitha explain what her spy is talking about._

Nonetheless, he continued reading.

_I hardly see how the Duke of Illium taking a new mistress should concern me._

Then he saw her name, scattered about the scandals.

**...in truth I believe the child is not her husbands, it is well known in my own circle that he has so far failed to sire any children and rumours of his impotence have long been heard since his ill-fated first marriage. To further this point a woman known to me, honourable and well trained in the healing arts, believed that the young Lady was further along than she claimed, at least two moons further in fact, this would mean the child was conceived at the royal court of what once was the Empire. Though she may try to conceal it, the child is a bastard and I for one am most eager to discover who would dally with the Earl of Reavstone's wife. **

** However even that scandal pales in comparison to the whispers I have been hearing about a certain Duke's daughter ( you of course know who I am talking about) engaging in what I can only assume to be...**

Eragon stopped reading. It was clear that this was what Leitha had wanted him to see.

"Well?" there was a touch of impatience in her voice, "is the bastard yours?"

_How on Earth does she know of my relationship with this woman?_

Saphira snorted, _why are you asking me?_

"How do you know about her?"

"Does it truly matter?"

Eragon thought for a moment, "No but indulge me."

Leitha's lips lifter into a gentle smile, "You know of my correspondents at court..."

_You mean spys,_ Saphira interrupted

Leitha chose to ignore Saphira, "there was nothing conclusive from what they wrote but when I saw you during your time there," she spoke more carefully now "it was like when you began a relationship with Alagos mother..." she paused and studied Eragon.

He was slumped in his chair looking older and more forlorn than she had ever seen him before.

"Forgive me; I should not have mentioned her. I did not realise her death still gave you much sadness."

Eragon closed his eyes for a moment savouring the bittersweet memories that he had tried to bury in the furthest depths of his mind, where they could no longer hurt him.

Soft lips tasting of sweet wine when they kissed for the first time in the orchard. The way the flames danced across her pretty face when...

_Eragon, _Saphira's voice was gentle coaxing him out of the memories and into the present.

"My Lord are you..." Leitha left the question hanging in the air

"Time does not heal Leitha, it only erodes the edges of what was once so vivid, so sharp and real. Neither does it ease pain, you simply become accustomed to it, so much so that it does not suffocate you as it did before..."

"It becomes bearable in time but you never forget its presence," her words interrupted his dark trail of thoughts, reminding him that it was not only himself who bore this pain.

"Aye." Eragon replied softly.

The silence between them spoke of grief and how the long years had left them scarred.

"The child is mine to the best of my knowledge." His words broke the silence.

Leitha nodded, "You can never tell what has been said in this room to another soul"

"I know." came Eragon's weary reply

Saphira voiced what they were all thinking, _doing so would damage our relations with Surda, Revstone is one of our most vital trading ports and to humiliate it's Earl would be foolish indeed, for he is a powerful man with powerful friends._

"Besides your son will be an Earl one day, there are worse fates."

"Aye but it leaves a sour taste in my mouth knowing I have abandoned my own blood. At least with Alagos I had some part to play in his life however small."

Leitha looked at him with pity, something which he neither deserved nor wanted. The situation was not ideal but neither was it a disaster. The Earl would not question this child after so many years trying to have an heir and Eragon knew the child would want for nothing, belonging to one of the finest families in the realm.

_However much it pains me little one you must forget your hatchling, it is for the best._

...

The years passed and despite Saphira's advice he could never quite forget his child. He would be lying if he did not say that he paid close attention to Reavstone and it next Earl.

News from court reached him of his son's birth, healthy despite his supposedly early birth and named Beren by his mother. The child blossomed into a healthy youth and all was well until the time came for him to be tested by the dragon riders.

By chance, or so it seemed, Leitha was presiding over that years testing. She would have been in Surda for two moons or so and Eragon was shocked to find her at the door to his private apartments, soaked from the storm that was raging outside. Immediately he knew something was wrong, Leitha was never one to abandon her duties and to fly in such dangerous conditions would be foolish if there was not an emergency.

She informed him, while stood by the fire trying to warm her bones with a large glass of amber liquid in her hands, that Beren had been chosen as a Dragon Rider.

Eragon tried unsuccessfully to hide his shock from Leitha, whom he only now noticed wore a similar expression on her pale face. Together they made hurried plans of how Beren would be taught by her so she could report back to Eragon on his progress. Again they talked of the secret that they would need to guard, this time even more closely lest anyone suspect anything.

With the preparations in place Leitha departed quickly, saying she had much business still to attend to in Surda and she could tarry no longer, not even to chase the cold and damp from herself. She left Eragon brooding in his chair by the fire, cursing the day he first met the Lady of Reavstone.

_I cannot see this ending well little one, for all our darkest secrets are revealed at some point or another, _Saphira's voice held a hint of foreboding.

...

"...and more to the point his arrogance means he does listen. More than once he has almost got himself killed because of his absolute refusal to follow simple instructions," Leitha stopped pacing,her frustration clear "He is just like his father, heavens knows how he hasn't inherited a love of fast women and slow horses but Beren is..." she stopped suddenly realising her mistake, hurridly correcting it, "I did not mean you Eragon but rather the Earl."

Eragon sighed, "I know what you meant Leitha. Beren may be my son by blood but the man who raised him clearly..."

Eragon heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. And Saphira's words echoed in his mind; _all our darkest secrets are revealed at some point or another._

He knew who stood behind him even before he turned to face person who clearly did not have the good sense to realise that eavesdropping on the leader of all Dragon Riders and the woman rumoured to be his spymaster was not a good idea.

Leitha almost seemed to sag in on herself. Before Eragon turned to face his son she grabbed his arm and in the ancient language spoke softly in his mind _forgive me._

_This was not your doing, _Eragon replied before turning to face fate.

"What do you mean by I am your son by blood?" The fair haired young man demanded.

Eragon took a deep breath to steel himself, "I meant that you are my son, by blood, which is coincidentally the exact thing I said"

"My father is the Earl of Reavstone"

Eragon leant against the archway and turned his gaze to the city that he had worked so hard to build for the riders, the endless years that he had spend meticulously planning what would become one of the great marvels of the world.

With its tall marble buildings that towered above the surrounding planes and its streets so wide even the largest dragon could easily fit through and the great white tower. It stood at the centre of the city, reaching so far to the heavens that on most days the open aired council chamber was above the clouds. His own personal chamber was in the tower under the council's halls, the cavernous rooms where much of the private deliberations took place away from public view. These halls were dark as there were no windows, to minimise the risk of secrets being discovered from the whispers of powerful men and women, an ingenious idea that Leitha had suggested. The shadows and darkness of this room, punctuated every so often by a glowing orb of light, gave the council hall's a hushed and almost hallowed feel. At the far end of the council halls was one of the entrances to his private chamber. Its doors were guarded at all times. If you were ever to go beyond them (precious few ever did) you would be met by a grand staircase leading down to his reception room, where he would receive guests. Leading off this room was a corridor to his sanctuary, the place he could retreat to when the weight of public expectation was too much to bear. Here lay his study, which housed an extensive collection of books that had been amassed over the long years. A fire always burned warmly in the large fireplace and a number of comfortable chairs surrounded it. His desk, which was always scattered with a number of maps, reports, personal letters and books sat near the large window that also doubled as an entrance for Saphira. His dining room was opposite to the study, it was not a grand room, for most state banquets were not held elsewhere, and it was rarely used as most nights Eragon ate alone in his study. His bedroom came next, in the corner lay Saphira's bedding and then his own bed pushed against the wall, the balcony of this room faced in the direction of Alagaësia, the land he had spilled so much blood for. Few knew of the secret passageways that laced through the city and even fewer knew of the great cavern below the city where so many of the EldunarÍ and dragon eggs now rested.

Visiting dignitaries, merchants and nobles often remarked on the scale of the city, from the streets to the buildings and rooms. However, they soon realised the hugeness of this place was out of necessity, dragons never stopped growing and this was something that had to be taken into consideration in the designs for the city. Blödhgarm has found a mention of a spell in an ancient book that the Riders of old had used in Doru Araeba, that made the city grow to the size of its inhabitants that had come in useful and now year on year its scale slowly increased.

"I am your true father Beren." Eragon could hear Leitha's soft steps retreating behind him.

The boy was shocked, Eragon didn't blame him, discovering your true parentage tended to be a painful experience as he recalled.

"My mother..." Beren choked the words out.

"Only wanted the best for you." Eragon ended the statement in a better way than Beren probably would have done.

Eragon could hear distant voices behind him. Leitha seemed to be speaking in a low urgent tone to two people. The voices grew more distant and mentally he resolved to thank Leitha for he did not think he could handle pleasantries at a time like this.

The young man, no he was only a boy in truth, collapsed against the wall. Eragon had the overwhelming urge to comfort his son. How wonderful it felt to say those words: his son.

"Perhaps you would want to discuss this further in private?" Eragon could not help but allow a little wistfulness to enter his voice.

"Yes"

...

Beren eventually came to terms with his true lineage, though he never quite had the heart to tell the man who raised him the truth. The Earl would die believing that he had a son.

Eragon knew in his heart of hearts that Beren would always consider the Earl his father, though this did pain him he accepted it for Eragon had always considered Garrow his father in all but blood.

The last time he saw Beren's mother she had seen many winters. Her face was lined and her once golden hair was grey.

"You forgive me?" she had asked him when they were alone at last. Her eyes, unchanged by the many years, searched his own.

"Yes, I never blamed you. In truth I was more at fault for this mess."

"You weren't."

Eragon opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"Do not argue with me Kingslayer, I may be old but my aim is still as good as it was in my youth."

Eragon could not help but smile at this.

She died later that same night and was buried beside her husband.

...

Thank you for reading. If you have anything you want to say about the story please review.

I

I

V


End file.
